


The Beginning (of The End)

by CynicalMistrust



Series: Destiel Smut Brigade 2015 Winter Challenge [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2014 Castiel - Freeform, 2014 Dean, Angst, Camp Chitaqua, Destiel Smut Brigade, Endverse, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 13:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5499005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynicalMistrust/pseuds/CynicalMistrust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There had been moments, two or three years ago when all this started, when Dean would have come to him, seeking solace, familiarity. When Dean would have joined him on the porch for a bit, napped in his bed from convenience...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beginning (of The End)

Camp Chitaqua wasn't always a quiet place, though to ensure he had at least some peace, Castiel had taken a cabin in the back, the one nearest the trees and furthest from the general bustle of what passed for everyday life. He sat on his porch, smoking a joint and enjoying the way it eased the morning chill and the pain. His leg had healed long ago, the physical pain barely a memory, but… There was a dozen more kinds to take its place, though he was at least quick to put a name to them these days.

It was early enough most of the camp was still asleep, the sun just beginning to lighten the sky. The way the light slanted through the trees could have been beautiful and peaceful a few years ago. Now it was only a signal to another day of Hell on earth.

He sucked in another drag off his joint, holding it in his lungs as he turned his attention to the sky. There was a particular chill in the air that hinted at snow to come. Winters were harsh; this one would be no different. The garden at the edge of camp had done well this year, but there were more refugees each month, and food supplies in the cities had dwindled enough to be near nonexistent. More mouths to feed, more bodies to care for. He didn't mind, but he didn't care like he had before either. He was a fallen angel; helpless, hopeless, hapless. He could barely keep himself together, he was in no shape to offer much to anyone else.

There was movement at the edge of the trees, someone returning from patrol. The someone turned out to be Dean; Cas recognized his stride, the way he carried his gun. He let out his smoke-filled breath as his attention focused solely on Dean. He lifted his fingers in greeting when he drew closer. Dean slowed for a few steps, gave a curt nod, and continued on, likely to find his breakfast and a nap before the duties of being their fearless leader caught back up to him.

There had been moments, two or three years ago when all this started, when Dean would have come to him, seeking solace, familiarity. When Dean would have joined him on the porch for a bit, napped in his bed from convenience; but that had faded when it became apparent that _Castiel_ was fading into just _Cas_. The ache of that abandonment was part of what drove him to seeking his own solace with the women who came through the camp. It was easier than he thought it would be, though it did little to satiate him in any way outside of physically. 

He turned his attention back to the sky once Dean was out of sight, watching the sunrise. The day would be overcast, and the sharpening chill in the air signaled snow was closer than he'd thought. He finished his smoke and headed back inside for his jacket.

Chuck found him on his rounds, updating his ever-running list of available supplies. When they said their goodbyes, Cas paused as Chuck added a 'Merry Christmas' as he walked away.

It was Christmas already? It was the one holiday they celebrated in the camp, the one they needed to keep their spirits from waning in the longer stretches of darkness. It was usually accompanied by a few days of relaxed restrictions on the alcohol.

He went through his day, helping where he could and declining the request to hold one of his sessions later. He tended to hold them more often when the weather turned bitter, but he wasn't feeling the need today. What he craved was difficult to obtain and usually left him burned after, though it never stopped him from refusing it on the rare occasion it was offered.

Some of the scavengers returned late morning with a wild boar they'd taken down outside the camp. It was large enough for a proper feast and the entire camp was in high spirits as the scent of roasting pig filled the air. Everyone he passed had a 'Merry Christmas' or the like to offer him, which he returned with a silent smile. He wasn't one to celebrate such holidays, though the festivities were a nice change.

He took his share of the food that evening - for once more than just enough to keep his body functioning without wasting away. The grease of the fat was satisfying in a way few things were. He did his best to savor it, though it was gone far too soon. He licked his fingers clean, glancing up and pausing as his eyes landed on Dean sitting on the other side of the fire.

Their eyes met and held. It was getting harder to read Dean, though the connection was still there, zinging along his nerves in a way his grace used to. Dean had actively tried to close himself off, especially in the past few months. Cas didn't need to ask to understand why, but it still cut deep. He'd all but pledged his life to Dean; he would follow to the end, no matter where it lead.

Cas tilted his head, lifting his chin in invitation as he stood and headed back to his cabin. The snow started when he was halfway there, large, fluffy clumps that stuck to his hair and clothes. He didn't look back to see if Dean followed. He didn't bother with the lamp as he stepped inside, sitting on the edge of his bed to pull off his boots, wiping at the melting snow on his neck.

He wasn't sure if he was surprised or not when his door opened a few minutes later and Dean stepped through; he'd never really expected Dean to take the offer. He tilted his head, watching as Dean set his guns and knives aside, shedding his jacket with a stubborn expression. Cas raised an eyebrow though he didn't comment on it.

Dean stripped to his underwear without turning, keeping his back to Cas a long moment as if doubting his decision. When he finally did turn, he moved to the bed, standing in front of him with the same expression.

Cas tipped his head back, reaching up to rest a hand on Dean's stomach, feeling the twitch of muscles beneath. With a whisper of Dean's name he leaned forward, pressing his lips against the warm flesh. It was too good to be true, having Dean in his cabin, almost naked. He thought he must be hallucinating until he felt Dean's fingers in his hair, curling tight and forcing his head back. Then Dean's lips were on his, hot and demanding, his weight pressing him back onto the bed. Its aged wood creaked in protest.

Dean crawled on top of him, divesting them both of the rest of their clothes, hands as demanding as his mouth. He still seemed to remembered where to touch to set Cas' blood to burning, still sought out the spot behind his ear that drew out a long moan with every swipe of tongue or graze of teeth, still rubbed at the area behind his left knee that had become more sensitive since his broken leg.

There was little foreplay involved. Cas' times with the women were gentle drag out sessions of passion. That wasn't what he wanted, what either of them needed. He wanted _Dean_ , something real and visceral, an echo of the desperation eating away at them both.

He clutched at Dean's hair and shoulder, arching into him as he felt Dean pushing inside, the slick slide of lube the only preparation. He didn't mind. He enjoyed the sharp bite of pain beneath the pleasure; it reminded him that he was alive, even if the reminder came with the additional one of no longer having access to his wings.

He leaned up, licking Dean's neck, biting his shoulder. His hips rocked up to meet the thrusts, urging him in deeper. His body shuddered as Dean wrapped a hand around him, not prepared for the spike of pleasure. Dean's hand moved in time with his thrusts - hard and fast, searching for something neither of them could ever hope to grasp - hot spikes of pleasure crawling up his spine. Cas let out a choked moan, fingers clenching tighter in Dean's hair as he came, orgasm crashing through him far sooner than he wanted. He tilted his face into Dean's as he continued moving, letting out a sigh of content when he found his own release and slumped against him. Dean was heavy, but he didn't mind the weight, staring at the ceiling as he listened to Dean's breathing return to normal.

Neither of them spoke or moved until their bodies had cooled. Dean was the first to do either, rolling onto his back a moment before sitting up and reaching for his clothes.

Cas felt the start of a familiar ache in his chest. Dean didn't often spend the entire night in a bed not his own, but Cas’ was sometimes the exception, even if it had been months since the last time. He reached out, grasping Dean's wrist before he could stand. Maybe becoming human had made him needy, maybe he was just starved for Dean's touch like he suspected Dean longed for his. Maybe he was just tired of trying to fill the emptiness with women who could never understand what he'd given up for them, for humanity. For Dean.

Dean hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as he stiffened, as though he expected Cas to ask something of him he couldn't give.

Like he ever would. He asked for little, did what he could to support the camp, and if he'd learned to grow his own stash of handy painkillers in the meantime, that was his business.

Cas tightened his fingers on Dean's wrist when he was sure Dean was determined to pull away, gritting his teeth with a soft growl as he gathered all his human strength and tugged. He shifted while he still had Dean off-balance, pushing him down, pinning his wrists to the pillow on either side of his head. Even in the shadows, he could see the glare, but he wouldn't let Dean walk out. He couldn't. Not tonight. Something like change, or closer to the end, was in the air, and they both knew how this would end. Lucifer walked the earth in Sam's body. The Croatoan virus was incurable. Even if they somehow lived, beat Lucifer, whether they destroyed what little remained of Sam or not... what would be left for them other than a ravaged earth?

They'd both lost everything. It was inevitable that in the end they would lose each other, too.

He ignored the intensified glare as he straddled Dean's hips, his own expression shifting to a smirk that widened when Dean seemed surprised that he didn't back off. He'd had centuries of playing an obedient soldier. He supported Dean, of course, but his trials of humanity had made it clear to him that supporting Dean and being selfish on occasion were mutually exclusive.

He leaned down, biting Dean's bottom lip and taking advantage of the sharp intake of breath to kiss him. There was a soft, possessive growl building in his chest and for once he didn't fight it back down. His grip tightened on Dean's wrists, forcing them up above his head so he could hold them with one hand. He had no doubt Dean could shake him off if he wanted to and heat spiked through him again and settled low in his gut when Dean let out a breath of defeat.

The desperation was still between them as he deepened the kiss, but the edge had worn until it was a dull ache rather than a driving need. He let his hands wander, stoking the flames of desire with lazy caresses. He knew he wouldn't have many more chances to enjoy this, if any, and he intended to draw it out as long as possible. That was one good thing to have come from his orgies; he knew how to make it last if given the chance.

He moved his lips down to Dean's neck, finding his pulse and sealing his lips to it in an opened-mouth kiss. He smiled against the flesh as Dean hissed, tipping his head back in offering, feeling the pulse quicken. He circled the spot with his tongue, suckled at it, grazed his teeth over it as he left a mark, knowing he was the only one who could get away with it. Even when Dean slept with others, he'd never seen a visible mark on him.

Dean's skin tasted clean, like he'd showered shortly before dinner, and he hummed in pleasure at the lingering smell of soap over what was just Dean. He covered Dean's neck, shoulders, and chest in kisses, leaving marks at random before focusing on Dean's nipples, circling them with his tongue even after they were hard and slicked with spit. The fingers flexing in his hair only encouraged him further and he sank his teeth into one, enjoying the way Dean arched and gasped beneath him. He did the same to the other, tugging at it before continuing down.

He found the lube in the covers when he reached Dean's bellybutton, flicking his tongue into it as he coated his fingers, nudging Dean's thighs apart. They gave token resistance before spreading and Cas hummed deep in his throat in approval. He pressed his mouth to the underside of Dean's hardening dick before sucking first one ball then the other into his mouth, his fingers finding Dean's entrance and pushing inside.

Dean hissed and made a sound close to a whimper, one hand fisting in the covers, the other burying itself in Cas' hair. His dick twitched and hardened further as Cas' fingers pushed deeper, his breathing hitching when they found his prostate. He let out a choked sound that could have been Cas' name as he thrashed on the bed.

Cas slid his other hand to wrap around Dean, stroking him with slow, lazy pumps of his hand, twisting it around the head before sliding back down as he pushed his fingers in deep and curled them to hit the same spot. He loved watching Dean come undone; was sure he was the only one who could ever reduce him to this panting, cursing, pleading mess. Even the women who could get him on his back never had the pleasure of taking and being taken.

He glanced up to find Dean's eyes on him, smirking as he pulled his fingers free. He coated himself before shoving Dean's thighs further apart and pushing in, sinking deep and letting out a deep groan without looking away. Once he was in as far as he could go, he leaned over Dean, pinning his wrists again and biting at his lips. It wasn't until Dean started shifting beneath him with soft curses he started moving, rocking back and snapping his hips forward, effectively cutting Dean's words off.

The bed started protesting again as they moved. Cas didn't release Dean's wrists, alternating his thrusts until he was hitting Dean's prostate each time, pushing him to the edge before backing off, never breaking eye contact.

Dean fought against the hold on his wrists, though he was easily distracted by a quick, relentless series of thrusts that had him panting before they were done.

It wasn't until Dean was as close to begging as he ever got that Cas relented, sealing their lips in an intense kiss, thrusting his tongue inside as he shoved his hips forward, grinding into Dean between sharp thrusts that had him shuddering and all but screaming as he came. The way Dean clenched around him was almost painful and pushed him to his own orgasm a moment later.

He collapsed on top of Dean, gasping for air and rolling off with a groan. He settled on his side, knee pressed into Dean's leg and a hand resting on his chest. The rapid pulse of Dean's heartbeat beneath his fingers was soothing, though he knew it wouldn't last.

The silence was less oppressive than usual with the breathing of someone beside him. They didn't need to speak; so much more could be said between them in silence, most of which couldn't be put into proper words. Acceptance, gratitude, reluctance, loyalty.

This was how things were. He'd accepted that the moment he'd laid his hand on Dean and raised him out of Hell.

In the morning, Dean would be gone. Cas would return to his routine of drugs, alcohol, and meaningless sex. And eventually, they would find the Colt and use it to find the end of the path they'd chosen to walk together.

**Author's Note:**

> Personal challenge: No dialogue


End file.
